On The Wing
by TheRealSusannahDean
Summary: What may have happened between Rick & Michonne during the time jump. This story, written with lots of inspiration from my fellow Richonners, is a Richonne-centric fanfic, slightly AU, and contains both very fluffy and very dark moments. It will be completed in 6-8 chapters and takes place during the time jump between Seasons 3 & 4. Genres: Drama, Horror, Fantasy& Romance
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Rick did not know where he was. Not at first, at least. Disoriented, he stood up from the spot where he'd been laying in the tall grass, and slowly surveyed his surroundings. From where he stood, he could see the gentle slopes of Mount Shannon reaching high up into the cloudless sky, casting its clear reflection onto the pristine body of water below. It was a hot, humid day at Lake Shannon, yet oddly devoid of people, he thought, as it was one of the most popular summertime recreation spots within a few miles of King County. Or, rather, it had been. This particular spot had been a childhood favorite of Carl's, he remembered. Up ahead, or more precisely down the hill before him, he could see a lone figure lounging on a large rock at the water's edge.

He headed down the hill towards the figure, and could now see that it was a woman. Her hair, done up in some elaborate configuration, was adorned by a single blood-red rose. She wore a flimsy-looking sun dress that was short enough to show off her toned brown thighs against the bright white of the fabric. He stopped a few feet away from her, and stared at the back of her head, willing her to acknowledge him. His hand dropped to his hip, and he suddenly realized he was unarmed.

"You won't need that," she said, still not turning to look at him, "It would only get in the way."

"Long days to you," Rick said to her.

"And pleasant nights," The woman said, now turning to smile warmly at him.

Their eyes locked, and a deep, calming heat radiated from within him, flooding him with a sense of safety and comfort, and he remembered. He recognized her as the woman who was now locked up in cell block C unconscious with a concussion, a woman he was almost certain Hershel had been buying time for with his ever-shifting diagnosis, perhaps until Rick changed his mind about her. Michonne. Her name was Michonne. He sat down on the ground beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. She was all large doe-eyes and full pouty lips now, her expression relaxed and serene, almost the same expression she wore that very first day at the prison fence, despite being surrounded by walkers. She hadn't hesitated to reveal to him all of her vulnerabilities then, and in that moment, she reached deep into his soul and communicated a thousand words to him. In those fleeting moments before she was forced to defend herself, he recognized that he knew her, had known her for some time now, perhaps since forever. This expression she wore now stood in stark contrast to the angry scowl she usually wielded as a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She stared down at him from her place atop the rock, and he squinted against the glaring sunlight that flashed from behind her head. She turned, looking out across the expanse of the seemingly endless lake. The sky there was now full of roiling grey clouds cleaved with flashes of blue lightening.

"Storm's comin' over the horizon," she said smoothly.

"Sure is," he replied, "It's my fault isn't it?"

She looked at him, "Rick, no-"

"Yes. It is."

"It isn't. I can help you", she said brightly, "Your people. But only if you accept me."

He stared up at her, confused.

"Rick? Listen to me."

They were in the lake now, the warm water slowly swirling between them as Michonne moved closer. As it disappeared below the horizon, the sun flashed a brief fiery aura around Michonne moments before her skin was cast a soft cobalt glow in the twilight. She wore the same thin, gauzy white dress, and he could clearly see all of her though the soaked fabric before she pressed her body tightly against his. She gently held his face in her hands as he wept. The sensation of her against the heaviness in his pants was nearly maddening.

"You", she said smiling, "Will keep your world from moving on any further than it already has, because you must." The words she spoke rang true to him, and he understood them perfectly now. "You aim with your eye, you shoot with your mind, and you kill with your heart."

* * *

Rick Grimes paused to take a breath between the walkers he'd been putting down through the fence. There were others slowly meandering towards his position, but they could easily be dealt with from the outside now. He could move on to one of the more crowded sections, or maybe go check on Carl, but Rick decided to wait. He looked down at his ruined shirt, grimacing as he wiped more coagulated blood and sharp fragments of bone onto it, taking care to not let them scrape his skin. Despite the grim nature of this daily chore, he was in remarkably good spirits. He had allowed the survivors from Woodbury to join them here in the prison, a decision that Carl seemed to be finally warming up to. Because of their new additions, they would soon again have their spacious grassy field, Hershel would finally be able to actualize his gardening plans, and the kids would have more room to stretch their legs. He squinted against the low bright sunlight of the early morning and took in his surroundings. From where he stood, he could see the others, people he knew and the new comers from Woodbury, working together diligently to clear the space around an adjacent fenced-off area. The new security gate had just gone up, based on an ingenious bodyweight pulley-system devised by a former engineering technician from Woodbury, and the field needed to be cleared as quietly as possible. They had the numbers now, and there was no need to draw the attention of additional walkers to their fences. He leaned against the fence, his fingers snaking lazily through the chain link as he allowed his mind to wonder.

…_It would be good_….

It had barely been a month since Lori died, and Rick still struggled to speak her name aloud much less go into a detailed discussion about the circumstances surrounding her death. Or about the remorse he felt. The voices on the phone, voices that he knew even then were not actually of the dead, but echoes of the dead, echoes of Lori calling out to him from the recesses of his own psyche, they, he thought, embodied his guilt.…those echoes had urged him to talk about it, just as Lori had in life…to talk, to share his feelings with others before his time with them was cut short…however, he'd come to realize, it couldn't be with Carl. Not just yet. He reached into his pocket and grasped the bullet he'd found at the very spot of Lori's death, the very spot where she'd given Judith the gift of life. He removed the bullet from its hiding place in his left jeans pocket, and absent-mindedly rolled it against his fingers as he tried to organize his thoughts…Carl would be up soon.

_…__You should talk about it, Rick…._

"…Dad?..."

He'd even attempted to bring it up on one of the few occasions they were alone, as they boy had seemed to have developed a knack for avoiding him lately, opting instead to stick close to Daryl or Michonne, following the two of them around like a lost puppy. Not only that, but whenever Rick attempted to broach the subject with Carl, he would become too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions to even make a coherent statement to the boy, much less offer the words of comfort or encouragement that Carl clearly needed. Lori was right, but she hadn't meant for it to be Carl, he now realized. No, he needed the help of another adult to work through this first, an intellectual and emotional equal, someone to bounce his insecurities, fears and theories off of, someone to act as a veritable sounding board of sorts. Amongst his closest friends, Hershel would be the obvious choice, yet for the life of him, he just could not see it happening with him or with any of the others. They had all had their fair share of pain and loss since the world changed, and they had all known about Lori and Shane, but few of them had actually experienced the sting that came with betrayal at the hands of a close friend. To see the pity in their eyes would be almost unbearable. If not Hershel, he thought, then who-

_"__Dad."_

The impatient tone of his son's voice shook Rick from his musings. He quickly placed the bullet fragment back into his pocket. Carl stood there, with his too-large sheriff's hat held loosely in his hands, glaring at his father, his too-long hair blowing into his eyes. Carl followed the direction his father's gaze and looked back at him, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and incredulity. He huffed in the exaggerated manner that Rick had come to associate only with the very young, "Dad, _really?_"

Rick dipped his head and grinned ruefully at the boy, "Hey Kid", Carl ducked as his father reached to ruffle his hair, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, fine," Carl said before he shifted on his feet to lean against the fence next to his father. He plopped the hat onto his head, and tilted the brim up and away from his eyes, "Daryl, Glenn and a few others are planning a run today, and I thought I'd tag along."

"No."

"But Dad-"

"It's too dangerous. I said no, and that's final."

Carl relented a bit more quickly than Rick had anticipated. The boy continued to gaze through the fence alongside him, "Dad?"

"What is it?"

Carl tilted his head in the direction they were both looking. Watching. "Maybe you should talk to her. Michonne, I mean."

Rick swung his head around to stare at Carl, the expression of surprise barely contained on his face. He had been watching her this entire time, he suddenly realized. She and Daryl were the only two clearing the field from the outside, yet it had been her movements he'd been tracking so closely, his eyes seemingly glued to her athletic arms as they worked, swinging the heavy katana and cutting down dozens of walkers that had encroached upon their home. He couldn't help but admire the deadly elegance of her fluid movements or the pleasing aesthetics of her form as she easily tore through the rotting flesh of the walking corpses.

Those familiar feelings of guilt and shame crept up on him again, and he prayed Carl hadn't detected the flush high on his cheeks, or his quick intake of breath at the mere mentioning of her name. Rick dug his hand into his left pocket, pinching his grotesque keepsake between his fingers. The sharp metal dug into his skin, yet he squeezed harder, relishing the pain.

_…__They put a sign up in our town…_

_…__if you live it up you won't live it….down…_

"If you still don't trust her", Carl said to him, "Just talk to her", and with that, the boy turned and walked off.

* * *

Carl picked up his pace to catch up with Daryl and Michonne on their way to the newly erected barbeque pit and communal dining area, or as Daryl had taken to calling it, 'The Eatin' Pit'. The smell of grilling meat in the air brought life to his belly, causing it to churn and groan in anticipation for breakfast. Ever since their supply run to King County, Carl found himself seeking out Michonne's company more and more. Daryl had noticed, of course, and had tried to poke fun at him for having a crush, but honestly, Carl knew that wasn't part of his draw to Michonne. Not only did she make him feel safe, but she always seemed to know what to say or do to lighten his mood, or the mood of anyone around. She spoke to him like he was a capable adult. She was warm and caring, and he felt privileged to be one of the few people who got to see that side of her. That and he'd been hoping to get his hands on her katana, a fascinating weapon of choice indeed. Although he tended to side with her opinions more when they differed from his father's, she was able to explain to Carl why she agreed with most of his decisions, effectively changing his mind about the Woodburians even before he saw any actual improvements with his own eyes. Michonne had made it clear to him that Rick's decision to bring them in was not only sound, but was the only decision that made any logical sense concerning their joint survival. "Safety in numbers", she had said. He began to volunteer for whatever work detail Michonne was assigned to at the time, and accompanied her and Daryl when they were on the watchtower rotation. She would help out wherever possible, but, he noticed, she had avoided any further social interactions with any of the newcomers. When he had questioned her about it, she just shrugged and told him she was a bit shy. He knew part of it had to do with loosing Andrea, which seemed to be too recent a loss for her to discuss in detail. The sadness he saw in her eyes was enough to stop him from asking any more questions about their time together, no matter how curious he'd been about the 'pet walkers' his dad had mentioned.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Daryl replied, "So. Any luck?"

"Nope. I guess I'm officially grounded for now."

"Well, I can't say that I blame your dad," Michonne said, patting him lightly on his back, "Hungry?"

Carl nodded.

* * *

Beckoned by the aroma of cooking food calling out to his empty stomach, Rick returned to the cell blocks to check on the kids and to see what was for breakfast. He quickly cleaned himself up and changed into a fresh shirt- he'd have to remember to wear an apron the next time he went on fence-cleaning duty, he thought. He took a mental inventory of his woefully barren quarters as he dried his hands. Aside from a few trinkets he'd picked up on supply runs, a desk lamp, and a plush duckling Maggie and Glenn had been thoughtful enough to bring back for Judy, there was nothing there that truly indicated the presence of life, family or home. A sterile, almost negative-life force existed there, sucking away at what little joy he tried to cling to. A tomb, just as T-Dog, had called it, and had been for T-Dog, for Axel, and for Lori. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before this soulless void of a place claimed them all. The sad thought of raising his children here grated away at him, wore him down, and angered him. With nothing that vaguely reminded him of his own carefree childhood, and now, without a mother's love-

Rick shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. He flipped the hand towel onto his shoulder, and raked his fingers through his greasy hair. Being so alone now, his mind tended to wander down that dark road, and it was becoming more difficult each day to bring it back. Refusing to give into to his fears, he thumbed his left pocket, tracing the outline of the jagged piece of metal hidden there as he forced down the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Mornin'", He heard Daryl's gruff voice drift into his cell before he turned to see him lifting the blankets that draped across the entrance. Daryl stepped in and shrugged his shoulders to shift the crossbow that was slug high across his back. He regarded Rick with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a weary smile.

"Hey."

"Carl and Beth are in the rec room with Judy, if you were looking for them."

"I was, thanks", he said, leaning against the frame of his bunk.

"There's a run later today after lunch, see ya then?"

"Yeah", before Daryl could head up to his cell, "Daryl?"

He paused to look at him.

"How's it going with Michonne?" Rick asked.

He shrugged, "it's night watch. Quiet, I guess."

While not exactly the information he'd been hoping for, Rick decided it was best not to press for further information about her, "And Carl?"

Daryl nodded, "He came up there about an hour or so before turn-over", He grinned, "kid's crushin' pretty hard."

"Is that so?" Rick couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah", he laughed, "I'm gonna get some rest."

* * *

Rick located Beth, and gently plucked Judith from the girl's arms so she could finish her own breakfast. He looked around for Carl just in time to see him speaking softly to, and actually smiling at Michonne as she rinsed the dishes she'd used for her meal. Everyone was expected to pull their own weight around here, and everyone participated in foraging, cooking, cleaning, structural modifications, clearing walkers, even childcare, and she had done more than her fair share, but he still felt the need to ask a just bit more of her. As much as she tried to keep away from them, most of the kids found her fascinating. She'd already made so much progress with Carl, and Lizzie, Mika, Luke, even Beth particularly tended to ask Carl so many questions about her, that he was sure his hunch about her was right. She'd make an excellent role model for young girls.

Rick stood there for a moment longer watching them while dotting Judy's buttery-smooth skin with kisses. Carl spotted him, and began to move towards him as Michonne headed off towards block C.

"Dad", he said, jerking his head in Michonne's direction, "Do you want me to take Judy?"

"Nah, I've got her."

It wasn't that he didn't trust her, quite the opposite, in fact. Rather, it was that he'd been overwhelmed by the intense draw he'd felt towards her from the very beginning, he'd felt that it was wrong, oddly sexual, almost perverse in its intensity. And the way he'd leer sometimes…he tried to chalk it up to his extended dry spell, and to loneliness that had started even months before losing Lori, but something about Michonne demanded his undivided attention. It unnerved him, frightened him badly and confused him, so much so that he'd made a point of being vicious to her at first. Until now he'd felt it was best to keep a safe, friendly distance, at least until he'd managed to figure her out. Lately, however, he began to doubt that he could do that on his own. Better to get to know her, he reasoned to himself, to come to understand what it was about her that often left him inwardly reeling and his mouth feeling as though it were full of sand. She'd been keeping her distance as well, especially for these past few days since Woodbury, or she had been trying to, at least, despite Carl's meddling. Back in the old neighborhood, he'd expected her to fight him, or to undermine his plans as many of his closet allies had done, but she'd only been helpful, saving his ass, actually, and she'd even been right about Morgan. He had been dangerous, and was very likely unsalvageable from the madness he'd allowed to consume his mind. Morgan, in his isolation, had succumbed to the dangerous fears that now threatened them all.

Rick's eyes, normally drawn to her curves, grazed over Michonne's form as he caught up to her in block C. It was getting chilly at night and in the early mornings now, and she wore warm layers that hid her from view. As inappropriate as he knew those thoughts might be at such a time, he admitted to himself for the first time with some degree of placidity that he missed the miserably hot, sweaty days of summer.

"Pssst," he called to Michonne to catch her attention, "Hey."

_…__so she left Monte Rio, son…._

_ …__just like a bullet leaves a….gun…_

Michonne turned to greet him, "Hey", she slowed her pace when Rick fell into step beside her. She found herself pleasantly surprised by Rick's quick turn-around from wanting her gone, to almost constantly thanking her for simply being present and interacting with Carl. It was the very least she could do, she figured. Carl had been through so much, too much for a boy his age, but she recognized that he was resilient enough to survive the perils of this new world with his humanity intact, and that endeared the boy to her. What she saw in him was an opportunity to help mold him into a caring leader, something she wished she could've instilled into her own son, had he lived. She thought that she should be a bit more careful around this family, however. They'd just lost Lori, their wife and mother, and she in no way wanted to disrupt the delicate balance they now struggled to maintain as they tried to heal from such a devastating loss. She was only just getting to know them, but both Grimes boys seemed to be drawn to her as well, and would often come to her, seeking her input on any number of topics or personal decisions. Rick- He was a good man, she knew this, but his over apologetic behavior came off as something too close to pandering for her comfort, and it was something she couldn't help but feel she'd brought on herself. She'd simply gone with her instincts then, recognizing Rick's relaxed posture and his decidedly close physical proximity, while very likely the subconscious pleas of a lonely father, as an open invitation. She'd allowed herself to react naturally to both of them, and before she could think to stop herself, she'd began to forge a bond she feared could very easily overwhelm her.

Rick noticed, not for the first time, that Michonne carefully avoided looking at Judy while in his presence. He shifted Judith to one arm, gently placing his hand on Michonne's shoulder, only to slowly drop it a moment later when he felt her tense up. Although he understood her reaction on some level, it stung him more that he'd like to admit. He'd apologized almost profusely to her for the way he'd treated her a few weeks back, and he had hoped that they'd put those unfortunate mistakes behind them by now, "I'm not going to hurt you, Michonne."

"I know that," she said. Rick strained to hear her words, barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. Really."

"I haven't had a chance to thank you. For Andrea. And, I wanted to let you know, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here." He wanted her to open up to him the way she'd started to when they were away on their munitions run. "It happens", she had reassured him that day. Although he'd felt quite embarrassed at first, she'd put him at ease with her admission, and even after she'd caught him staring at her. Sparkling brown eyes framed by thick curly lashes gazed up at him, a slight smile on Michonne's lips, and even then, right after seeing Lori, he'd wanted to touch her, to smooth his hands down her arms and feel the heat of the sun radiating off of her very real, very alive, very supple skin. Skin that would not give way to nothingness had he chosen to act upon that impulse. But now, the way she blinked rapidly and averted her eyes when he mentioned Andrea's name as if she were fighting back tears, it was all he needed to see to know that she wasn't quite ready, and understandably so.

She smiled weakly, casting him an uncertain side-long glance, "There's a run in a few hours. I'm gonna grab some shut-eye," she said before heading up to her cell.

"Yeah, I'll see you then", He stood there as she walked up the steps to her cell, their eyes locked again, and, she thought, he looked as though he wanted to say more, but seemed to have thought better of it. He turned, cuddling Judy in his arms as he headed back towards the recreation room.

Michonne, breathing a sigh of relief, retreated to the comforting darkness and solitude of her cell, thankful for the heavy blankets that hung at the entrance. Cloaked in darkness, she curled up on her bunk and allowed her tears to flow into her pillow until she dozed off.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been about a week after Hershel began to bend Rick's ear about starting the gardening and farming project, and he'd been putting pressure on them now, telling them tilling and seeding needed to be completed soon. They could've acquired a rototiller during their last run to make the job easier, but it would've been a waste of fuel and space, and besides, what else where they going to do with their time? As they worked the plots, Rick took a moment to look his son over, noting that he seemed less tense now, if not a bit downtrodden by recent events. He looked good & healthy, in fact, more so than he had in a while, Rick thought before he actually realized why Carl looked different. He reached out to ruffle Carl's hair, and this time he did not avoid his father's touch, "Nice hair," He said, smiling.

"Thanks, Michonne offered to cut it, so I took her up on it", he said grinning, his round cheeks taking on a rosy hue, "When do you think she and Daryl will be back?"

The boy's mood had taken a nose dive after Michonne and Daryl had announced their plans to resume their search for the Governor. Around the same time, Rick had agreed to step back from his leadership role, and to head the farming project with Hershel. The Counsel was formed soon thereafter, its purpose, in Rick's abdication, was to make decisions, handle disputes, assign duties and to organize watch and supply run schedules. With everyone in the prison voting for the candidates who' d expressed an interest in participating, Hershel, Carol, Sasha, Glenn and Daryl were assigned to the Counsel, with Dr. S. stepping in during Daryl's absence.

"Soon, I'm sure", he told Carl, with no degree of certainty.

"The people from Woodbury, it was a good idea, I see that now."

"What changed your mind?" Rick asked, stooping down to pick rocks and stubborn weeds out of the planting bed.

"Just seeing all of the improvements we've made with them, I suppose. Patrick, he's pretty chill. And Michonne."

"What'd she say?" He asked, glancing up at Carl, trying and failing miserably at pretending to be only slightly interested.

"She said your decision was 'sound', and that she'd have done the same thing," he stopped what he was doing to look down at Rick, "So, you trust her right? You'd have to. Back in the old neighborhood you let us go off by ourselves?"

Rick gathered the debris he'd strewn about the plot and tossed it into the wheelbarrow, "I do, but that was never the issue, Carl."

He brightened, "So…I can go on runs with her then?"

He glanced at the boy, "Carl."

"_Dad_," he shot back, punctuating his irritation by stabbing his garden hoe into the ground.

"Son, no", Rick said, nudging Carl's shoulder, "Look, I know this ain't exactly excitin', but it gives us plenty of work to do around here."

Carl nodded, returning his attention to the soil. Rick watched as the boy concentrated his efforts into singling out an earthworm, and mashing the creature to pieces with the garden hoe.

"Hey, enough of that. Here", he said handing him a potato fork, "It's a bit easier."

"Sorry", Carl mumbled as he accepted the fork, placing the hoe off to the side.

"I'm not doing this to punish you, you realize that, right?" Rick asked, eyeing the pistol holstered on Carl's thigh. He'd told Carl to leave it behind on numerous occasions, and it bothered him that his son seemed to cling to it like a security blanket.

Carl nodded, "Yeah."

* * *

Rick was up and about a bit earlier than usual. Beth hadn't had much luck sleeping the night before, and in her restless boredom had offered to take Judy very shortly after Rick had gotten up. While he was reluctant to allow his time with Judy to be shortened, he agreed, wanting to get a head start on planning the layout of the pig pens. They'd been able to capture two live sows already, one of which was about halfway through her pregnancy, according to Hershel. The enclosures needed to be completed before the piglets' spring arrival in a few short weeks.

He hadn't bothered trying to wake Carl just yet. Michonne and Daryl had returned from their most recent unsuccessful mission the previous evening, bringing with them a boatload of fun items for the kids. Carl had been up most of the night again, reading and re-reading the newest editions to his growing comic book collection furnished solely by Michonne. Daryl had already filled him in on the details of their latest outing, but Rick hadn't spoken to or even seen Michonne despite waiting around in the most populated areas of their little community. He began to have a sneaking suspicion that she was purposely avoiding him.

Rick gathered his collar around his neck against a chilly gust of wind as he headed out towards the plots. Daryl had left the truck out there for him, with its bed full of wood pallets, logs, and various other pieces of scrap lumber to use for the construction of the enclosure. He grunted as he hauled a heavy chunk of wood he'd chosen to spend the rest of its life as a fence post from the heap. It was slow work on his own, but some of the younger men and boys would be up to help him soon, and he didn't really mind having a few quiet moments to himself. He glanced up from what he was doing and froze. Through the light mist of his warm breath hitting the air, way off in the distance through the thicket, he spotted a flash of light colored fabric. For one paralyzing moment, fear crept into him- he'd made so much progress lately, and hadn't seen Lori since before Andrea died. Relief overcame him as he spotted the same light-colored fabric moving off towards the wooden footbridge over the pond. He watched for a while longer, almost certain that it was a walker until he got a better glimpse at what, or _who_, rather, was moving about. Grinning to himself, Rick grabbed a machete from where he kept it hanging outside of the new make-shift shed, and quickly headed out towards the main gate, entering the padlock combination to slip through the pedestrian entrance.

Rick unsheathed the machete he'd attached to his belt, and carefully approached Michonne's position as she fought off two walkers at once, mindful as to not startle her. As much as he'd wanted to see her, he preferred to keep his head attached to his body. He joined her, darting around and ahead of her to intersect a third walker that ambled towards her. She stared at him, breathing heavy and eyes wide in surprise, but she kept her katana lowered towards the ground. He gently grasped her arm, tilting his head down to peer at her until she slowly nodded.

_I'm fine. _ Her heart, pumping hot blood through her and already buzzing in her ears from the thrill of fighting, thumped in her chest when she felt his grip tighten. She looked at him questioningly as he attempted to pull her to him, and when she resisted, the glint in his eyes became dangerously playful. She smirked, _ballsy move_, she thought, as she stepped into him, following his lead, and enjoying this little game a bit more than she should have. He'd been persistent, despite her attempts at distancing herself, and she found it tiresome to keep up her façade of disinterest around him, so why even bother? She reasoned. His presence calmed her, put her at ease, and perhaps to the extent of lowering her inhibitions too much, but it was getting more difficult for her to be perturbed by this realization. She'd missed him, really, his shy, sweet manner and the intense yet subtle heat that seemed to radiate off of him whenever they were close. She welcomed and appreciated his affections, especially now after enduring more than a week on the road with Daryl Dixon, who, in her opinion, had turned out to be quite the cold fish.

"Hey", he whispered, the vapor from their labored breathing mingled as he pulled her close, "Don't hide from me." Speaking in the gentle drawl he'd always used with her, he captivated her with his earnest blue gaze, and could've easily held her there for as long as he wanted.

Suddenly, startled into action by the sound of snapping twigs, they both whirled around to face the direction of the disturbance, weapons at the ready. Rick's eyes widened in disbelief, _"Carl?" _

Carl stood there with his pistol in-hand hanging at his side, glancing rather suspiciously between the two of them.

"Shit", Michonne said sheathing her katana, "I'm so sorry, I should've known he might follow me."

"It isn't your fault", he told Michonne, then to Carl, "Carl, what are you doing out here?"

Carl lowered his head, hiding his downward cast eyes beneath the brim of his hat, "Just in case she got into trouble…" he murmured.

"Oh, Carl-"

"Carl, who gave you the combination to the gate?" Rick demanded.

"Beth-"

Rick cocked his head, _"Beth?"_

"No, not her…she was with Zach…I overheard."

_Ah._ The angry crease in Rick's brow relaxed somewhat as understanding dawned upon him.

Carl's lower lip trembled as he recounted what he'd overheard. He'd been pinning away after young Beth for some time now, only to lose her to someone she'd known for a mere few weeks. Zack had, in an effort to prove just how brave he was to Beth, revealed to her combination to prove he'd had access to the gate, and would often venture out on his own.

"It's awful brave of you to look out for Michonne, but you just can't go doing stuff like this," Rick said to him.

Carl nodded, his head still downward, and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"Hey," Rick said softening his tone. He gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze, "I'm not angry, Ok?" He reassured him, glancing between him and Michonne. "Ok", he nodded, "so, what's on the agenda for today?"

Michonne glanced at them, smiling uncertainly, "Really?"

"Sure" he said, "Let's make it a fa-" he cursed himself inwardly, mortified that he had very nearly said _family outing_. He smiled when he realized she had pretended not to have noticed his slip-up, "Let's make it a group outing. We can check the traps while we're out here."

"I'd like that," She said. The combination of her warm smile and soft, soothing voice acted as a salve for his jumbled nerves.

"Carl, stay behind me," he said, pressing a couple of fingers into the boy's shoulder, "Cover us. Shoot only if you have to."

Carl nodded, accepting those terms, and grinned as he chambered a round, "Awesome."

They cautiously began their walk through the woods, with Carl and Michonne falling a little bit behind Rick, speaking softly to one another. "There's a trap for larger game down this way," Rick said, starting off in the direction he'd indicated. Michonne took the opportunity to form her hand into a shape reminiscent of a quacking duck while gesturing towards Rick with her head, eliciting a strangled snicker from Carl and a confused backwards glance from Rick.

Rick swung his head around upon hearing the unmistakable groans and wet slurping sounds that could only be of feeding walkers. Acting on pure instinct Rick gathered Michonne and Carl behind himself with a hand at her forearm, halting the group's forward progress while he assessed the situation. Rick glanced at Michonne. Part of him had expected her to protest, or at least to sidestep him, but she waited patiently for his queue. "Looks like it was a boar," he said, frowning.

"Ugh," She said quietly, scrunching her nose, "Damn shame."

With a firm squeeze to her arm, he let her jog ahead of them, and watched as she quickly tore through the walkers who'd been feasting on the carcass.

"Cool," Carl remarked.

Rick took out the next walker, cleaving its face in two with his machete, sharply tilting his head to dodge the brain matter spraying towards his face. He looked down at his shirt, and flicked away the wet bits of skull that landed there. He glanced at Michonne as they continued walking, "You like doing this?"

She stopped and turned to him, actually thinking about it for a moment. She cast her eyes off to the side before finally meeting his gaze again, "No," she shook her head sadly, "No, It's disgusting."

Rick nodded, understanding both her words and her actions.

"Hell of a workout, though," she remarked, smirking as she brushed past him.

They remained quiet for the most part, only exchanging brief observations or suggestions for which path to take next. They came to a clearing, and halted when they saw a big red horse grazing there.

Rick kept his voice low as to not startle the horse, "I've seen that horse before, weeks ago", he told them.

"Me too, I can't believe it's still alive", Carl replied.

"Stay, Here", Rick told them, removing his belt. The horse, which Rick thought looked to be a red dun quarter horse, began to back away as Rick made his approach, "Whoa boy, whoa…" he said gently. With little warning, the horse snapped its head around when it detected approaching walkers. Panic-stricken, the horse took off, nearly trampling Rick before he could duck out of the way.

They watched, momentarily stunned as the horse, nearly running into yet another walker, reared up wildly. It smashed its hoof through the soft skull of the approaching walker, bucked, and then took off at a gallop. As it ran, it tossed its head occasionally, its golden-red mane and tail catching the bright sunlight. To Carl, it was one of the most beautiful horses he'd ever seen, and to him it looked like it was almost literally on fire.

"We're going to lose him!" Carl yelled, leveling his weapon at the approaching walkers

Without missing a beat, Michonne crouched low, bringing her blade up and across, deftly eviscerating and decapitating both walkers in one fluid movement before taking off after the horse.

Rick held out his palm to Carl as the boy's posture shifted, ready to bolt.

"Carl…"

Carl quickly glanced between his father and the direction Michonne had gone, hesitating only for a moment before taking off after her.

"Carl _No_!"

Rick caught up with them moments later, Michonne, having accurately calculated the horse' path crouched behind a shrub. Carl quietly approached her hiding spot, flattening himself against a tree as the horse galloped towards them.

"_Don't!-_" Rick cringed inwardly when he saw Michonne emerge from her hiding spot directly in the horse' path, fearlessly, or foolishly, rather, Rick thought to himself, she began hopping up and down where she stood, waving her arms about and shouting, "WHOA, GIRL!" The scabbard she wore across her back had shifted with her energetic movements, and Rick's eyes followed the lower end of it as it bounced comically against her bottom.

The horse, caught by surprise, reared up onto its hind legs and snorted loudly, but it obeyed Michonne. She glanced over to Rick, confusion and uncertainty creeping onto her features.

He nodded, "Go on, she likes you…" Rick watched in fascination as Michonne slowly approached the mare. The creature shifted, nervous, but no longer frightened, with the left side of its body now facing her.

"It's okay…" she said gently, as she approached the frightened creature. Its ears pricked forward as Michonne approached, and it turned its head slightly, to watch her. "That's it sweetheart…" tentatively, she reached out to caress the horses' muzzle. The horse bowed its head, welcoming her touch.

Michonne looked around at the others, beaming at them, while Carl carefully approached the horse, now oddly calm.

"Must've had a woman owner, you think?" Carl asked.

"Well, look at this shit," Daryl said, grinning and crossing his arms, seeming to appear from nowhere. "I headed down here when I heard all the noise, thought you could use my help. Guess I thought wrong."

"Yes, you did," Rick grinned as he watched Carl and Michonne fawning over the big red mare, "We're gonna need to change the combination on that padlock," he told him.

Rick and Daryl straggled behind Michonne and Carl as they slowly lead the horse to the gate using Rick's belt as a lead line. The two men listened quietly as others chatted excitedly about their most recent adventure. Rick gazed ahead at the two of them, becoming engrossed in their idle conversation when he wasn't glancing around for possible threats.

"Hey", Daryl called to him. When Rick didn't answer, Daryl nudged his shoulder to finally get his attention, "Hey. Haven't seen you grin like that in _months_", he teased.

* * *

Rick's eyes blinked open the moment he heard Judy's cries. He switched on the book light he kept in his bunk, and sighed when he saw how early it was. She'd be hungry for sure, and probably needed a diaper change. He laid her onto his bunk and switched on his desk lamp to tend to her, "Hey there, baby," he whispered to her. She squirmed and laughed as he ticked her tummy, her big blue eyes gazing up at him adoringly. He flipped a hand towel onto his shoulder, getting ready to prepare her breakfast.

"Come on in", Rick said after he'd heard the light taps against the bars of his cell, "you're early-", he said turning, fully expecting to see Beth. He stood there for a moment with Judy cradled in his arms, stunned, as Michonne emerged from behind the drapes. He slowly sat on his bunk, looking up at her, waiting. He patted the top of his mattress to his left, but she shook her head, deciding instead to lean against the frame of the cell's opening.

_...everyone's looking for someone to blame..._

_…__if you share my bed you share my…name…_

"I loved Andrea", she started, "It was so good for once to have another living person to talk to, but I knew…it seemed as though every time we'd come across some strangers, especially men, she'd want to show herself. As if what we were doing for each other wasn't enough, as if she trusted them more to protect her because they were men, never mind the possible risks…It was like a slap in the face." He stared at her, but said nothing. His eyes urged her to continue.

Her voice, soft and breathy, drew his eyes first to her lips, and then to the hollow of her throat where she fingered the tiny 'M' charm she wore as she recounted more bittersweet moments with Andrea. The affect Andrea's visit to the prison had on her hadn't gone unnoticed by him, and couldn't help but to still feel the same anger towards Andrea. He'd wondered if Andrea even believed the nonsense she'd allowed to pass through her lips, especially after Michonne had revealed to them all what Philip really was. He'd observed their exchanges carefully during her visit, and had scoffed at Andrea's ridiculous accusations, but Michonne had taken them to heart. Andrea had been indifferent to Michonne's reaction, but he had not, could not have been, even if he wished it. He'd watched how Michonne had looked on, longing after a wayward loved one, someone who didn't even deserve her devotion, had all but tossed it aside, and the envy those memories evoked surprised him. He selfishly wanted that for himself, her longing looks, her unconditional loyalty, and more. Afterwards, he remembered, she'd merely stood there looking hurt as Andrea climbed into the vehicle they provided for her. Michonne did not walk out with the rest of them to watch her drive off, and instead, had remained close to the wall where she stood, hiding there until Andrea was out of sight.

"Thank you for talking to Carl, by the way, and for the hair cut. I really do appreciate that."

"Yeah, no problem," for a moment, her eyes dropped to the sleeping infant in his arms.

Rick pounced on this first-time opportunity, "Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh-" She stammered, and, almost imperceptibly, inched closer the opening of the cell, grasping at drapes that hung there low behind her back.

She'd attempted to be discrete, but it was too late. He noticed it, he _saw_ it, there in her body language, and in her sad nervous smile. He learned more about her in that one instance than he had in any of their discussions or interactions over the past few months, and something inside of Rick crumbled. He felt as if her emotions were somehow tied to his, had a direct effect on his, and it was preposterous, he realized, that this woman, not much more than a friendly stranger, really, could influence him so. While he wouldn't use the word _delicate_ to her face, something in her mannerisms and in the way she spoke when alone with himself or Carl made him feel fiercely protective of her, almost as protective as he was of Carl and Judy - _protective or possessive_? He thought bitterly to himself as he wondered if what he was feeling was even a fraction of the sickness Shane had felt towards Lori - Whichever one it had been, he realized that it had started even before their munitions run. He was sure that such a tough exterior, the almost impervious blanket she wrapped around herself, had to be protecting something fleeting and rare in this world, a kind, beatific soul, who'd endured as much grief and loss as he had. Someone who very easily felt the pain and joy of those around her, could easily sense what they needed, and that, he could identify with greatly.

"I'm afraid I'm a nervous mess with the little ones, I wouldn't want to drop her," she said, barely regaining her composure.

"So, not a baby person", he brightened, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, especially with Judy being so close. He carefully placed Judith into her crib, bringing him close to where Michonne stood. He smiled, "Are you a horse person? You were great with the mare we brought home yesterday."

"Never really tried to be. Beautiful creatures."

He stepped closer, no longer resisting the urge to do so, giving in to the pull she had on him that he'd almost classify as magnetic had they not been so similar. She shifted a bit on the balls of her feet, but she held his gaze and did not shy away from him. His eyes dropped involuntarily, skirting along the graceful lines of her collar bones. He reluctantly stopped them from dropping even lower before he returned his attention to her face,

"You wanna learn how to ride?"


	3. Chapter 3

The sharp aromas of pine wood and fresh manure wafted through the air, enlivening Michonne's spirit and reawakening her senses as she cautiously approached the newly built horse stalls and pen. At first, she never would've thought she'd get used to such a smell, much less come to think of it as the scent of tranquility, of comfort. To her, it had become the smell of home. It wasn't a great smell by any means, and it left the nose with much to be desired, but she knew she that would miss it during her time away. It inspired her, stood as a testament to the notion that what she and Daryl had been doing was the right thing. Perhaps it had been their unwavering vigilance, their constant presence outside the prison fences that kept the Governor at bay. If they stopped now, surely something terrible would happen. Perhaps he'd seen them, as she and Daryl scoured nearby locations, and decided to wait. After all, he was alone now, having slaughtered the only people willing to allow themselves to be manipulated by his delusional rants. If they could stand to send out two of their best soldiers, then surely, the home base must now be a stronghold, an impenetrable fortress, and simply not worth the risk. It _was_ the right thing, the only thing, no matter how empty it left her feeling as she'd lay on the cold, hard ground, struggling to still her turbulent mind as Daryl stood watch nearby. To protect all of this, and everyone living here, she'd endure anything, kill anyone.

Flame's head protruded through the opening of her stall to greet Michonne as she shrugged her katana off of her shoulder and carefully placed it at her feet. She wouldn't have time to see Flame in the morning, as she and Daryl still had a lot to do before leaving. They'd been home for a few days now, and she was anxious to get back out there. This most recent lead had seemed to be the most promising yet, although Daryl had been dragging his feet as of late. She knew his arguments were valid, but She'd come to know people like Philip well enough to understand them, and she knew that even on his own, he wouldn't just leave with his vendetta unfulfilled. He'd likely be holed up someplace nearby, lying in wait, watching for the best time to strike, and he'd do so when they would least expect it. It was up to them to be proactive, to strike first in order to neutralize one of the biggest threats to their people. To act as the grey mongoose to Philip's king cobra.

She'd left Carl in the rec area with Beth and Judy shortly after supper. Rick had excused himself a short while earlier, mumbling something about checking supplies when Carl began to ask about the search for Philip. She wasn't sure where Rick had gone off to, but when she didn't see him or anyone else around, she relaxed, grinning as she smoothed her fingers through Flame's mane. "Hello sweet girl," she said, speaking to the horse in soft lulling tones. Michonne self-consciously glanced around before loosely wrapping her arms around Flame's neck, the mare protested as expected, but only a little. "Hey, mama, gimme hug," she cooed gently. Flame obediently turned her head, pressing it against Michonne's upper back, and effectively trapping her as Flame nibbled at her hair, "Alright, that's enough…"

Michonne jumped a bit when she heard the door of the small shed creak open, but was careful not yank her hair out of Flame's mouth before raising her head. If someone was inside, she couldn't have noticed, as the shed stood facing away from the enclosures, and she'd neglected to check there this time. If anyone except Carl caught her baby-talking Flame, she'd likely die of embarrassment, she thought.

"That's funny, I don't remember teaching her that trick."

As she bent her knees in an attempt to get Flame to let her go, she twisted her head, craning her neck to look up and grin at Rick. The tips of her ears burned with embarrassment, but it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd anticipated, she thought gleefully, as she let Rick help her untangle herself from Flame.

"Well, we haven't exactly perfected it yet, as you may have noticed," she said straightening herself and leaning against outside of Flame's stall.

"She misses you when you're gone," he said, settling next to her for a moment and reaching back to casually stroke Flame's muzzle. The horse jutted her head between the two of them, and nibbled at Rick's hands, likely hoping for a treat.

"I know," she replied, turning to face him, and serious now, "We're getting close. We are," she said as she absently stroked Flame's neck. A light breeze brought with it the faint scent of Rick's sandalwood soap, blended with the acrid odor of his sweat, completing the bouquet that formed an everlasting impression of this place, this dream within a nightmare, both in her mind and in her heart.

Rick moved past her to continue his chores, stooping over to pick up a spare length of rope and a few farrier tools. While doing so, he paused a few times to glance over at Michonne, but remained silent. While Daryl had made no secret of his growing reluctance, he continued to accompany her on these missions, possibly out of some feeling on indebtedness towards her, and also because he knew she simply wouldn't let up until she was ready. Neither Daryl nor Rick liked the idea of Michonne striking out on her own again, but they both feared she'd do just that if Daryl ever decided to stop going with her. In fact, they'd both been certain of it, although she'd never voiced any intent to do so. She stood watching him, slipping her scabbard over her shoulders and squeezing at the lower end of it with her left hand. When she began to head towards the cellblocks, Rick called to her, "Would you mind telling Carl to get Judy ready for bed? I didn't get a chance to check the traps today. They've likely been spoiled by walkers, but we might get lucky."

"It's almost dark," she said, following him to the shed now.

He shrugged blithely, squinting against the waning sun, "Sun's still up. I won't be long," he countered, casting her a series of perplexingly guileful glances as he placed various items onto their respective shelves. He rummaged through a small blue tool chest, plucking his knife from where it was nestled between his and Carl's pistols.

She eyed the tool chest, now tucked into the far corner of the shed, as she gave him room to step out. She watched as he closed and locked the shed door, thinking fleetingly to herself that he could use a bag to carry some of his smaller quarry home, "You're not taking the python?"

He glanced down towards his hip where it would've normally been holstered, "Guess not," he grinned, but her carefully frozen expression conveyed to him, and in no polite or vague terms, that she most certainly didn't see what the hell was so funny.

"I'm going with y-"

"OK."

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him.

He smiled, "What?"

She slowly shook her head, barely containing her own smirk, "Let's go."

* * *

Rick stood, awestruck, as he watched what had probably been one of the most intricate series of movements he'd ever seen Michonne execute. She spun in one direction to engage the first walker, smoothly transitioning and pivoting into the opposite direction to handle the second and then a third. Her sword somehow carved a figure eight as it arched through the air, glinting in the fading sunlight. As she moved, he realized she'd been wearing a new headband today, more colorful than the last, and it was secured with a long brown ribbon that hung a few inches below the ends of her hair, complimenting her lighter colored, sun-bleached dreads rather nicely. When she came to a stop, her hair swung around, whipping hard against the side of her face and neck as she glanced over her shoulder, grinning at a stunned Rick. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Show-off," he remarked.

She performed a near-perfect chiburi, flinging off most of the walker blood from the blade of her katana before sheathing it, "I wasn't lying when I told u I hate it," she said, falling into step beside him, "I need it just as much, I think. Gets all of the bad shit out, ya know?"

Rick had to slow his pace while looking at her lest he'd trip over his own feet. He stared at her, then nodded, "The bad shit." Something, a tiny seed of an idea perhaps, began to sprout within his mind as he looked at her. _The bad shit…_

Michonne gave him a speculative look as he walked ahead towards the next snare, seemingly lost in thought. She turned to follow him, herself distracted by his bemusement, and yelped in surprise as she felt sharp metal snag the sleeve of her shirt and dig into the flesh of her forearm. She'd momentarily forgotten about the waist-level barb wire perimeter around some of the trap sites. She stood there, a bit dazed, slowly rolling up her torn sleeve to watch as the blood welled from the fresh wound.

She turned to Rick as he approached, "What happened?" he asked.

She held up her arm as blood began to drip from the small cut. He produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and peered at her as he pressed it to her arm. She winced in pain in spite of herself.

"It's fine. That's what I get for being a dumbass," she said, taking the handkerchief and securing it around her arm.

"Stop," he said as he palmed the side of her head, drawing her to his chest for a brief hug before she restlessly squirmed out of the embrace, "I'm fine Rick."

"I know," In that instant, Rick wasn't sure what had come over him. Perhaps it was that he was all too aware that she and Daryl were heading out the next morning for God knows how long, or that she'd clearly been upset by such a tiny wound, such a common, insignificant mistake. He couldn't stand to see her upset, not even a little, and that this battle-hardened angel's first instinct was to turn to him for help did not go unappreciated by him. He wanted to lift her spirits and let her know that he wanted her, and that even in her instances of weakness or need, that she was loved, desired and awe-inspiring, all without uttering a single word. All of this would run through his mind as he'd think back upon this moment in the future, of course, but in retrospect, he knew that he hadn't a rational thought in his mind when he suddenly kissed her. They were still close enough to embrace, and Rick simply moved his hand from the side of her head to her chin, tilting her face up, to bring their lips together. Time stopped when their lips locked for the very first time. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, gently biting when she attempted to turn her head as Rick used his other hand to hold her face steady, intensifying their kiss. She relaxed against him, and allowed him to tentatively explore her with his tongue. This kiss was no innocent peck to be shared between platonic friends, and could not have be mistaken for anything other than what it was, surprising them both with its fervor and depth, both knowing that this was merely the tip of the iceberg. For one frightening moment, Rick was sure that he'd topple onto her, as the ground beneath his feet seemed to have become unsteady, almost as if it were in a state of flux as his lips brushed against hers when he ended their kiss. He opened his eyes to find hers still closed. He gently kissed her brow and then the bridge of her nose before her eyes fluttered open. Glazed over and unfocused at first, Michonne's eyes widened a bit before she pulled away.

"Michonne?" he called to her as she hurried off.

"We should head back," she said quickly, not turning to glance at him.

Rick hesitated before following, just taking in the sight of her, and reading her body language, looking for any sign that he'd upset her further. He trailed behind her a bit, keeping about five paces between them, just out of striking range of her katana, or so he hoped. She slowed her pace to glance over her shoulder at him a few times, but said nothing until she finally came to a complete halt. He stopped when she did, still a few feet away from her.

"Rick…," she said, sighing as she turned towards him.

"I know. I'm sorry," he said gently, closing the distance between them. "I should've asked your permission." He regarded her with boyish, innocent eyes before grasping her shoulders and pressing his cheek to hers, "Please don't kill me," he murmured, brushing his beard against the smooth skin of her cheek as he spoke into her ear.

She laughed softly, "I think I'll spare your life this time," she said, leaning into him, "but you're right, you should have asked first." She returned his kiss with one of her own. Painfully teasing and all too brief, it wasn't much more than a soft, slow nibble at his bottom lip that was over before he could react. He barely grazed her with his tongue before she turned to leave, "We really should get back," she told him.

_The bad shit_...

That night, Rick lay restless in bed, staring into the dark and listening to his wristwatch tick away into early morning. As he stared into the darkness, images and sensation of that moment flashed chaotically through his mind over and over…the taste of her mouth, the feel of her smooth delicate chin beneath his fingers, her skin and hair, slightly scented with something akin to roses, the feel of her soft lips, the fluttering of thick lashes like tiny black folding fans…The tiny sprout that sprang into existence earlier that day had already undergone an explosive growth spurt within his mind and had taken on a life of its own. It took root, and wormed its way through his mind, tickling, stimulating parts of his personality he was sure had died with his marriage, long before Lori's betrayal. In that moment that they had shared, all of the bad shit had been forgotten, had just dissolved away in an instant, and he knew this because he felt it too. He got up, not bothering to put on his boots, and headed up to the next level after checking on Judy.

* * *

Michonne stretched out comfortably alongside Daryl Dixon as they gazed up at the spring night sky, groaning as she felt the bones in her lower back pop, releasing the pressure of standing upright and walking around all day long. They both lay with a bent arm tucked behind their heads, almost mirror images of one another. They looked on as the sparkling pin points of light danced about in the sky.

She tried to focus on what Daryl was saying, but she couldn't seem to keep her mind away from home. She hadn't known what to expect of her visit to Rick's cell that morning. He'd wanted her to talk, so she went with her instincts and indulged them both. Without the threat of judgment, he often pushed her to share her thoughts, just as he'd pushed her when teaching her to ride horseback or to fire a pistol. His expectations of her quickly escalated, but Rick made it clear through demonstration that he'd be there if she were to stumble, figuratively or literally, and together, they discovered that in fact, she was a horse person. Her first time riding Flame had been unexpectedly successful, and Rick, in his excitement, had grabbed her just as she'd botched her dismount, catching her and pulling her into a tight, sprawling hug.

Her heart ached for him that very first day. The anger she'd felt quickly faded away when she saw baby Judith for the first time, a helpless, motherless newborn, and when she witnessed Rick's tearful reunion with Carol. She looked on as Carl stood there, jaded beyond his years and stoic in the face of such grief. She couldn't stop herself from sharing in their joy and pain, and still, even after Rick's infuriatingly half-assed attempt at torturing her, it had been difficult to muster any ill feelings towards him. She recognized that he was like her somehow, and had understood his predicament. It felt to her as though as soon as their eyes locked, his emotions somehow intermingled with her own. Her father called this a gift. It was something that she'd been able to do since childhood. She'd always been able to tell if someone was lying or sincere. If they were hurting, she could usually fix it, but it was so different with Rick. More intense than ever before and so much easier. This man, this stranger who'd saved her life, stood out to her amongst the crowd, and in turn, he'd been the first to spot her. As he stood there staring at her, studying her with a look of disbelief on his face, she was able to glean from him that he was not quite sure if she were real, and that this uncertainty had become a common one for him back in those days. She could easily see the contrast between Rick and Philip, who's tightly controlled demeanor barely contained what he really was. Rick's attempt to hide his near-madness was for the benefit of others, and not to deceive or to manipulate. She'd stood there, watching from the outskirts, as their leader broke from his sudden loss just a few days prior, yet he had not been ashamed of his pain, and did not seek to hide it then, not even in front a of possible hostile stranger. She'd come to love Rick and Carl, all of them really, at a dizzying pace, and although she tried her best to look on the bright side of things now, to not be frightened by what she was feeling, she couldn't help but notice a sense of impending doom. What would she do if this life too crumbled? She feared she wouldn't survive it this time, but really, she began to wonder if there would even be a reason to…

…_After they'd brushed her down, and tacked her up, Michonne lead the red mare towards the center of the grassy field for riding practice._

_"So, do we have a name yet?" She asked Rick as he walked alongside her._

_As they slowly made their way through the tall, wet grass, frigid beads of dew dotted their clothes and exposed skin with droplets of moisture. Rick squinted as the sun began to climb the sky, bathing them all in golden light. Michonne studied his handsome features as they were both illuminated and shadowed by the soft orange glow. The mare's mane sparkled brightly in the intense sunlight as its golden-auburn tail whipped contently through the air._

_Rick had allowed Carl to sleep in again. Not only had he been too excited by Michonne's return to go to bed at a decent hour, he'd likely stayed up even later just to read. Rick smiled at her, "Carl calls her Flame."_

_"Flame. I like it."_

_Although winter had been pleasantly mild this year, it was still a bit chilly, especially this early in the morning. Michonne removed her finger-less gloves and jammed them into the pocket of her vest as Rick verbally reviewed a few basic rein commands and safety tips. She flexed her stiff fingers, trying to get some warm blood back into them._

_Rick abruptly stopped talking and stepped closer to her, rubbing his own hands together. "Come're," he murmured as he gently cupped her hands between his, massaging and blowing warm air onto them until her dexterity returned. He massaged her hands and each one of her fingers until they were warm_ _again. She glanced away shyly as he tilted his head up to gaze down at her with half-lidded eyes and a slight smile on his face. The stiff whiskers of his beard tickled her finger tips a he brushed them against his soft lips. "Better?" Rick asked._

_She smiled, "Much…"_

…Dragging herself out of her reverie Michonne's gaze followed Daryl's free hand as he pointed at a cluster of stars. It was early spring now and brisk, but not too cold for them to sleep outside with only their light-weight jackets plus a few light layers. The star configuration he'd indicated looked vaguely familiar to her, almost appearing to be a rather common geometric shape that she didn't care enough about at the moment to recall the name of. She struggled to remember what he'd told her, as he'd just given her a rather generous hint only moments ago. She glanced at him uncertainly, "Um. Cassiopeia?"

"Naw, she's a bit further north right now," he said, lowering his arm to rest it against his chest.

"Hmm. Draco?"

He looked at her, laughing, "You are _terrible_ at this."

"Well, that's the Northern Star, right?" She asked, gesturing noncommittally.

"Ok, stop. Just…stop," he said as he began to laugh, clutching his abdomen and curling up on himself, gasping for breath, "I can't'-"

She sat up and rolled her eyes at him.

"That," he finally said, "Is a satellite, I mean, look, it's moving even."

"Whatever," she said softly, "I don't even wanna think about what happens once those things fall into disrepair."

"Me either."

"We'll watch them. They'll rain down on us one day. Set the night sky ablaze when they do. Just another reminder of what all we've lost.

"Not for a long time," he glanced over at her when she remained silent, "You ain't usually _this_ gloomy," Daryl said, propping himself up onto his elbows. He looked her over for a brief moment, "You miss your boys."

She smiled sadly, "That obvious?"

"Yuh huh. Hey," he tapped the tip of her boot with his, "You got first watch, right?"

"Sure," she watched as he turned away from her and curled up, closely studying the wings on the back of his vest.

Every time they went out now, or so it seemed, he'd accuse her of trying to extend a pointless search that she was using it as an excuse to stay away from the people that loved them, angering her with his uncanny accuracy when he told her she was frightened. Their home was secure now, he'd reasoned, and there were now plans put into place to help protect them from attacks or intruders. They had a chance at real lives now. She'd been outraged when he first suggested giving up the search for Philip, but now, she admitted to herself reluctantly, that what he'd told her was beginning to make sense. She would try to see it his way, but only after a few more attempts, they were so close. She could feel it…

…"_Cold as shit," Daryl murmured under his breath, rubbing his hands together vigorously as he held them out over the small fire._

"_You know, Andrea and I…we'd always huddle together," she offered, "for warmth," she added quickly._

_He turned his face away from her and shrugged dismissively before getting up and walking to the edge of their little encampment to light a cigarette. Daryl said nothing, only glanced at her a few times as he puffed away. Her eyes unabashedly followed his hand as he adjusted himself through his pants._

_After a short while, she simply gave up and shrugged it off, "Suit yourself."_

"_I'm gonna piss," Daryl informed her as he turned his back._

_They had followed the footprints of a man who Daryl believed to be roughly the same size as Phillip. It was the first promising lead they'd come across after days of hiking through the mucky Georgia wilderness, and they were so close now, but it was almost time to head back to the prison. Rick had made Daryl promise that they'd check in every couple of weeks._

"_So," Daryl said casually as he turned to look at her after zipping up, "What's up with you and Rick?"_

… Do you trust me?...

_She stared at him, visibly rattled, when he spoke Rick's name. The very mentioning of his name conjured vivid images and sensations in her mind and body that she'd tried so desperately not to dwell on. They distracted her, made her question her priorities and set her on edge, making her anxious to get back home despite the importance of their current mission. Rick had gone to her cell late that night when neither of them could sleep… it was something she tried to put out of her mind for the time being, yet that memory would play itself out in her mind day after day…_

…Bewildered, she sat up quickly when she heard someone gently rapping the bars of her

cell. It was past midnight, and everyone was expected to be either asleep or on watch.

A moment later, she felt the tension in her chest ease up as she made out Rick's form

peering into her cell, spilling dim moonlight into the tiny room as he pushed the curtain

aside,"You awake?" he called softly.

"Yeah what's up?" she answered, only slightly alarmed now. She placed her feet onto

the floor.

"Nothing…nothing like that, just stay there. Relax," he said. He glanced around before

Dropping the curtain, cloaking himself in shadows as he leaned against the corner wall.

Neither of them bothered to turn on a lamp, giving their eyes a chance to adjust to

the scant light.

"Okay…"

He could hear the uncertainty that tinged her voice, but was at a loss for how

to say what he needed to say.

After a few moments of silence, Michonne became anxious, "What is it?" she asked,

keeping her voice low, "Are you OK?"

The concern in her voice made him smile, and feel like a complete jackass all at once.

"I'm fine," he said, still speaking to her from the dark corner, "it's just that, I've been

thinking. Couldn't get myself to stop. Yesterday, when we went to check the snares,

what you said, about killing walkers? That it gets the bad shit out. It makes you feel

something, feel alive, am I getting this right?"

"Perfectly, but Rick, I-"

"And when you go out looking for-for _him_. That's part of it too, right?"

"Maybe, but Rick, I've never really thought about it like tha-"

"I think there are much, much nicer ways to deal with it. The bad shit, I mean. Something

you won't hate. Is it really worth going out there and needlessly endangering yourself?

If you get hurt or captured…I don't think that's the answer. I just don't think more bad shit

is the answer. I don't think that's what you need at all."

"Hmm," she said after a few moments of silence, "and what is it exactly that you think

I _do_ need, Rick?"

He stepped closer to where she sat and stooped down, nearly causing her to jump out

of her skin when he placed his hands on her thighs, firmly squeezing, and smoothing

them towards her hips.

"Oh…"

The surprise Rick detected in her voice gave way to a playfully seductive tone,

causing his pulse to quicken.

She leaned down towards him, feeling a mischievous grin spread across her face,

"Are you gonna give me a thigh massage now?" she whispered into his ear.

He felt the light, scratchy texture of her dreads tickle across his neck and shoulders

as she brought her face close to his. He chuckled softly, "Maybe…."

he said, kissing her. "Do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

"You know I do."

She could hardly even remember how they'd come to mutually agreeing

to this but it was done wordlessly as they fumbled around in the dark. She made no

protest when he sat on her bunk next to her and proceeded to untie the drawstring

of her pajama pants as he kissed her, she helped him even, although he stopped

her when she tried to unbutton his shirt or reach for his zipper. He palmed her

through her flimsy night shirt before she pulled it up and over her head. His beard prickled

against her neck as his kissed her, pressing her onto her back. Rick's hands and lips moved

down her abdomen to her thighs. He tried to find a comfortable position on the tiny bunk

before deciding it was better that he kneel, pulling her to the edge of the mattress.

What Rick couldn't quite express in words, he expressed skillfully using his hands, mouth

and tongue.

Her mind went completely blank when the rhythmic motions of his fingers and mouth

drove her over the edge. She felt as though parts of her became feverishly hot and liquid,

melting into his touch as she gripped his hair and ground her body into him, her

breathing heavy yet controlled as to not make too much noise.

His touch, every carnal caress, transported her to another place, a safe place where

they could carelessly indulge in such a way as much as they wanted to, a place far from

walkers or violent psychopaths and the constant threat of death and loss.

She found him gazing fervidly up at her when she'd finally opened her eyes, not knowing

how long she'd kept them squeezed shut, her chest hitching as she caught her breath.

He slowly moved to kiss her, dragging his mouth up her body as he did so.

When their mouths met, she sampled her own salty-sweetness, thrilling her to no end.

Not quite panting, Rick's chest rose and fell heavily against her, the

heat and the weight of him pressing into her roused something dangerously unbridled

within her, and she very nearly preyed that he wouldn't ask to stay. There was no way

she'd ever be able to say no to him. Not right now, anyway.

They stared at each other, both shocked that they'd allowed themselves to indulge in each

other this much, and so, so soon.

"I'd better go…"

She nodded, albeit hesitantly. She wanted nothing more than to have him to lay next to

her as she came down from their little tryst, but she knew that would lead to a very, _very _

long night for the both of them. They'd likely never want to face reality again.

Rick stared down at her for a moment longer, perhaps waiting, hoping for her to change

her mind. When she didn't, he helped her back into her night clothing. She lifted her

bum as he pulled her panties and pajama pants over her hips. He stood

carefully, his movements slow and stiff-legged, for obvious reasons.

He stepped into the shadows of her dark cell as he watched her push herself into a

sitting position to finish getting dressed.

"Goodnight, Michonne," he murmured before once again spilling soft moonlight into

her cell as he exited.

She watched him leave in shocked silence as she concentrated on slowing her rapidly

beating heart.

"Goodnight, Rick," she breathed, although she knew it was too soft for him to have heard her…

…_Sudden movement in her periphery brought her back to the present as Daryl waved his hand and whistled softy, "Hey, U still here?"_

_She merely cut her eyes over to him, irritated by the interruption. How much had Rick told him? _

"_You gonna answer my question?"_

"_Forget about it. I'll just sit here and freeze," she snapped. "Asshole."_

_Her sudden shift in mood caused Daryl to glance curiously at her. He flicked his cigarette into the fire, and knelt, rummaging through his knapsack. He tossed a wool blanket towards her, barely missing her head, but she caught it, and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled of him, stale cig butts and body soil, but it was warm and comforting._

"_Get some rest," Daryl said gently, "I'll take first watch…"_

…She'd never admit it to anyone now, but in a previous life she had spent enough time on to know that the bleached denim wings were hand-stitched onto Daryl's vest, with the black outlines of the feathers carefully done with heavy black thread, and not embroidered at all, as she'd first thought. The edges of the wings were left unhemmed and frayed, giving them a rough, rugged appearance.

"Quit starin' at my ass," Daryl quipped loudly over his shoulder, startling her.

Michonne sighed and quickly scanned their surroundings. _Still uneventful and quiet_, she thought lamely to herself as she continued to occupy her mind with thoughts of home.


End file.
